Stolen Time
by 3iggy
Summary: Holmes and Watson are left with a peculiar case.


"Mr. Holmes?" The woman repeated once more.

The smoke of my pipe wafted about my head as I stared out of the window just behind her. Sometimes, if I sat in such an attitude for long enough they would go away. However, this lady seemed particularly persistent. She sat politely with her gloved hands chastely clasped in her lap; a look of utter despair graced her features.

With a heavy sigh, I made eye contact with the woman. "What can I do for you Madame?"

She flinched although she was obviously relieved by my sudden attention. I grimaced as she tearfully lapsed into her tale.

"You see, Mr. Holmes, I've found myself in a rather distressing situation. Two weeks ago…well…" Her cheeks flushed as she stuttered in a most bothersome manner.

"Yes?" I prompted, hoping to propel the meeting forward.

"You see, I was married Mr. Holmes and living in Scotland with a gentleman that I've never even met before." The tears trickled down her face. I fidgeted, made uncomfortable by her display of feminine emotion.

"And, you found this upsetting? He is not a pleasant type of husband?" I could not see how this was something with which I could assist her.

"Oh, no! Quite the contrary." She blushed again.

"He is very handsome, and kind. But, his manor house is terrifying. I am sure it is haunted."

I scoffed at her assertion, but she continued.

"And, I do not recall being courted, or married! I simply woke up in Scotland a wife, Sir! With no idea of how I'd spent the past few days. Is that not quite peculiar? I've had no contact with my family or friends—I only managed to make this meeting because my husband brought me with him into town on business. I stole away from the hotel after he left. I had to sneak away from the maid servant he assigned to me. She thinks I'm ill in bed. I must return before they realize I'm gone." Tears once more poured forth from her blotched eyes.

"And, what exactly do you want from me? What am I to do about your situation?" I jumped from my chair and moved over to the window. Baker Street was quiet that day. My eyes searched the streets as she replied to my query.

"I hope that you can ascertain how I came to be in this predicament. I am not at liberty to leave my husband at this time. Perhaps, if you were to uncover some type of trickery, I may be able to disentangle myself from him. My reputation would never recover if I were to flee at this moment. I will not be a source of shame to my family. Yet, I am not even certain that they know of my fate or of my whereabouts. Please sir, take my case." She stood and faced my direction.

I watched the carriages driving through the snow coated streets. "What is your husband's name?"

"Mardock. Andrew Mardock, sir." She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"And, your own name Mrs. Mardock?" Finally my eyes fell upon the object for which I had been searching. A man of middling height and average appearance ambled down the street good-naturedly. He looked both ways before crossing over Baker Street.

"My name, before, was Mary Ashworth." She was wringing the abused handkerchief in her hands.

The name rang a bell. "Do you belong to the shipbuilding Ashworth's?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. My father is Albert Ashworth, the owner of Ashworth Shipyards."

"And, your family has come into a good deal of fortune, have they not?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"Interesting." I mumbled as footsteps echoed on the downstairs landing.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Hudson!" A sedate voice called, it was followed by a hushed conversation, and then the footsteps sounded once more. Mrs. Mardock eyed the door warily, but kept quiet. As she watched the door, I turned to study her in earnest.

She had the bearing and attire of a well-to-do woman. Her conversation led me to believe that she was sufficiently educated. A woman of middle class mercantile stock reared to make an advantageous marriage. Although she seemed prone to emotional releases, I doubted that she was also the victim of hysteria or exaggeration. She was telling the truth about her unconventional marriage.

It was interesting, but I thought it time to bring in my assistant. He had impeccable timing as always. I left my spot at the window and rushed to the door, pulling it open before Dr. Watson had a chance to knock.

"Good morning, Sherlock." He smiled.

"Ah, Dr. Watson. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Mardock, she has brought us a most intriguing case of stolen time!"


End file.
